From ''Calliope: or, the musical miscellany'', p368, 1788. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''AULD ROBIN GRAY. Scots Air.'''
When the sheep are in the fauld, and the ky at hame, And a' the warld to sleep are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in show'rs frae my e'e, When my gudeman lies found by me.
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From ''Songs, hymns, and psalms'', by Jonas Hanway, p10, 1783. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''Lands in an Improved State.'''''
Our Banks they are furnish'd with Bees, Whose murmur invites one to sleep, Our Grotto's are shaded with Trees, And our Hills are white over with Sheep, We seldom have met with a loss, Such Health do our Mountains bestow, Our Fountains all border'd with Moss, Where the Harebels and Violets grow, Where the Harebels and Violets grow.
I've found out a gift for my friend, I've found where the blackbirds to breed; But will not on plunder depend, He'll say 'twas a barb'rous deed. For 'he' ne'er could be true, he aver'd, Who could rob a poor bird of his young, And I lov'd his the more, when I heard Such tenderness fall from his tongue.
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From ''Apollo’s cabinet'', vol 1 p153, 1757. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''The'' Life of a Beau. ''Sung by Mrs.'' CLIVE.'''
How brimfull of nothing's the life of a beau, They've nothing to think of they've nothing to do; They've nothing to talk of for nothing they know, Such such is the life of a beau, a beau, a beau, Such such is the life of a beau.
For nothing they rise but to draw the fresh air, Spend the morning in nothing but curling their hair, And do nothing all day but sing, saunter and state. Such, such is the life of a beau.
For nothing at night to the play-house they crowd, For to mind nothing done there they always are proud, But to bow, and to grin, and talk--nothing aloud. Such, such is the life of a beau.
For nothing they run to th' assembly and ball, And for nothing at cards a fair partner call, For they still must be beasted who have--nothing at all. Such, such is the life of a beau.
For nothing, on sundays, at church they appear, For they've nothing to hope, nor they've nothing to fear; They can be nothing nowhere who nothing are here. Such, such is the life of a beau.
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From ''Songs, hymns, and psalms'', by Jonas Hanway, p9, 1783. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''Winter'''''
When the Trees are all bare not a Leaf to be seen, And the Meadows their Beauties have lost, When all Nature's disrob'd of her Mantle of Green, And the Streams are fast bound with the frost, When the Peasant inactive stands shiv'ring with Cold, As bleak the Winds Northerly blow, When the Innocent Flocks run for Care to their Fold, With their Fleeces all cover'd with Snow With their Fleeces all cover'd with Snow.
In the yard where the cattle are fodder'd with straw, When they send forth their breath like a stream; And the neat-looking dairy-maid sees she must thaw Flakes of ice that she finds in her cream-- When the birds to the barn come hovering for food, Or they silently sit on the spray; And the poor timid hare in vain seeks the wood, Left her footsteps her course should betray--
Heaven grant in this season it may prove my lot, With the wife whom I love and admire, While the icicles hang from the eaves of my cot, I may thither in safety retire! Where in neatness and quiet, and free from surprize, We may live, and no hardships endure; Nor feel any turbulent passions arise, But such as each other may cure.